


Conflict Resolution Goddess

by Cryptographic_Delurk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Camping, Carver doesn’t deserve this shit, F/F, Multi, Post-Kirkwall, Schadenfreude, Social Humiliation, but I will laugh at him, comedy(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptographic_Delurk/pseuds/Cryptographic_Delurk
Summary: When Merrill appoints herself the Keeper of their three man party crossing the Vimmarks, she finds herself with a responsibility to mediate conflicts between the Hawke siblings. Including ones that may be about her.Things go just swimmingly. (They do not.)
Relationships: Female Hawke/Merrill
Comments: 10
Kudos: 15





	Conflict Resolution Goddess

The Hawkes did not really know how to make camp, Merrill discovered.

Oh, they could manage for the days it took to go up and down the Wounded Coast, or a week on the Deep Roads, or even through the forest to Cumberland. But a few months, hiking back and forth across the Vimmarks, until they finally decided to make a break for Nevarra, was a different sort of journey. And they were unsuited for it.

The type of vagrant living that the Hawkes had become accustomed to in their youths was obviously very different from the type Merrill had lived. They knew how to hunt, and gather elfroot, to build a campfire and hang a tent, and to keep the goat that pulled the cart with the mirror comfortable. But they had always lived running between places – lines between dots of farming towns which were scatted across the Fereldan landscape. And in those towns they settled and worked and gathered supplies and enjoyed the bounty of agriculture, until they must inevitably leave again.

What the Hawkes really did not know how to do was wander. And when they ran out of their stock of grain, it was Merrill that had to take them by the reins and show they how to find edible roots and mushrooms and grasses, how to ferment meat so as to supplement the diet, how to follow the stars in circles so you moved and moved until you ended up nowhere at all. And, maybe most importantly, how to idle and relax through the whole process of it.

It made Merrill feel a lot like, well, a Keeper. Her people had rejected her, wholly and completely, and she’d spent so much time crying for Fenarel and Ineria, who she had not been able to flee from without slaughtering first. But the Hawkes could be her people now, and she could remember their stories, along with all the others.

Hawke herself had been tight lipped about her past, though Merrill had collected the sharp bits and fragments of it that her lover had dropped into other glib remarks throughout the years. And there had been times Leandra had sat Merrill down and treated her to lectures on the legacy and pedigree of the Amells, until Leandra’s death had put an abrupt stop to such tales. So this made the contribution Carver provided, opening up to her as they sat around camp and mended torn tarpaulin, unique. Merrill held the space as he recounted stories about his sister Bethany, who was at once perfect and not, and Malcolm Hawke, who had been pulled in too many directions to have time for every concern.

It seemed Merrill and the goat were the only one Carver was getting along with, though. It was maybe not entirely coincidental that tempers had flared for Hawke and her brother as they were weaned off the energy-rich grains and gruels they were accustomed to eating. But it had been building for a while. They had reaffirmed the importance of their connection during that final trip to the Gallows. And while Merrill did not think anything could truly shake the devotion they felt to one another after that, the same cracks and fragments that had always divided them had unearthed during their travels. And they persisted in fighting over what felt like every single one of them.

They fought about the interpretation of their father, then their mother, then their Uncle Gamlen. They fought about how when Hawke had been swooning around as Kirkwall’s Champion, Carver had been shuffled through a rather unpleasant set of hazing rituals as he established himself as a templar. And then they fought about how all of that training had come to nothing in the end, since one of Hawke’s friends decided to declare open war against the Chantry and its templars (or at least that’s what Carver said, Hawke said the training was never going to amount to anything decent in the end anyhow). This was followed by a rundown of every one of Hawke’s friends in Kirkwall, and their disparate opinions on each one of them from A to V.

On one such night, Carver was practically shaking with rage, and Hawke replied with something that even Merrill thought might be the slightest bit uncalled for:

“Why so jittery, brother? Miss the lyrium?” And then when there was no answer. “ _Carver_! _You didn’t-_! _Imagine what Mother would say!_ ”

“Oh, shut up!” he’d snapped back. “You don’t know what it’s like. How many times I said no before they shoved some up my nose. How they had a nice laugh at the Mage Champion’s darling lightweight baby brother.”

Things continued at that pace. And it was getting a bit tiring. And viscous. And while Merrill did not particularly enjoy placing herself in the middle of conflict, she reflected on her role as these siblings’ self appointed Keeper. It was a Keeper’s job, also, to mediate disputes between members of their clan. To dig up the heart of a problem and negotiate a solution that everyone could live with.

Merrill thought it would probably be easier to discuss it with Hawke first. Since Hawke was usually so lovely and easy to talk to. And also much easier to catch privately, seeing as they shared a tent.

Merrill asked one night, curled against the woman and feeling rosy with love and sleepiness. There must be a way to address some of the neglect and resentment and inadequacy that Carver felt without it turning to such bitter arguments? And couldn’t Hawke refrain from bullying Carver for any unfortunate drug experimentation that he’d been pressured into?

Hawke laughed a little and pulled her closer, and Merrill admired her messy hair under the light of the spell wisp.

“You’re taking it too literally, dearest Merrill,” Hawke said. “This isn’t about templars or mages or lyrium, or whoever Mother and Father _actually_ loved more. It’s just because he’s jealous because of, well, you.”

“Me?” Merrill asked. The idea was inconceivable. Her life was hardly very exciting or enviable. Whatever did Carver have to be jealous of?

“Well, yes,” Hawke said. “He used to have the most terrible little crush on you. And he’s a sore loser.”

“Oh, that,” Merrill said, relieved to have the information she needed recontextualise Hawke’s cryptic statements.

Hawke did not seem nearly as relieved as Merrill was. “‘ _Oh, that’_?” she repeated “You knew about it?”

“Well, of course,” Merrill said simply. “I could hardly risk to be unaware of a handsome young shem taking an interest in me that way. Luckily he was very silly and harmless about it. I remember the way he used to get so tongue-tied around me. It was rather cute.”

“ _Handsome_?” Hawke demanded. “ _Cute_?!”

“Well, sure.” Merrill frowned. She was beginning to think there was some kind of problem. “He’s a handsome man,” she stated plainly.

“You-?” Hawke squinted critically at her. “Carver wasn’t the only one with a crush, was he?”

_Oh_ ! Merrill put it together all at once. So that’s what Hawke was upset about. Merrill should probably backtrack, or offer some form of pacification.

The problem was Merrill was beginning to feel terribly nervous. And being terribly nervous had the tendency to make her terribly babbly. So what spilled out of her mouth was:

“I guess- I suppose- The crush was just the tiniest bit… mutual.”

Hawke really had a terrific scowl. Merrill wondered at how she managed to make the frown lines at the corner of her scrunched lips seem so adorable.

“Well, isn’t it terrific-?” Hawke folded her arms over her chest, flopped on her side so she was facing away from Merrill, and curled into the bedroll. “That you’re reunited and together again after all this time?”

“But it was only a little crush!” Merrill protested. “So many things have happened. It’s hardly anything that should matter now, to Carver or myself.”

Hawke if anything curled up tighter in her little ball. Merrill propped herself up so she was sitting on her knees. She gently shook at Hawke’s shoulder, to no avail. Hawke was well on her way to giving her the silent treatment.

“ _Ma vhenan_!” Merrill chastised. Hawke could be ever-so foolish and petty. And Merrill thought Hawke was hardly in any position to do so. Hawke was so beautiful, talented, popular, and would flirt with nearly any woman that walked by. Merrill had not given her even half so many reasons to be jealous. “I am not going anywhere. We have been together four years!” she reminded.

Hawke was as stubborn as she was petty and foolish, though. And so she refused to engage Merrill, and they finally fell asleep facing away from each other.

==

Now nobody was talking to anyone. They just- grunted, as they went through the motions of passing firewood and food and camp supplies to one another. A few shouts and the low canter that accompanied Hawke’s healing spells when they were set upon by bears. The very barest dregs of communication that needed to remain in tact in order to be successfully travelling through the Vimmarks together.

At some point, while handing her a canteen of soft ale, Carver had asked in an undertone, “By the Maker, what did she do?” And then squinted at Merrill appraisingly. “Or what did you do?”

Merrill turned red and only sputtered a few nothings around the spout of the flask. Which made Hawke glare at them from the other side of camp. And, please Hawke, it wasn’t like that.  _It wasn’t like that_ . The situation was just the slightest bit embarrassing, and being under the critical eye of both Hawke siblings was a bit embarrassing, and Merrill also felt a bit ashamed because being Keeper was  _hard_ .

She had only set out to mediate one tiny dispute, and had somehow only dug up another one in the process and made everything worse.

Merrill wondered wistfully for a moment how  Marethari would have handled things. Probably by sowing mistrust between her followers and disparaging their talents until they lost all confidence in themselves, then by keeping everyone deadlocked in a dangerous location so they were sitting ducks for templars and angry human mobs, and then by hiding her motives and goals from everyone as she got herself possessed by demons.

Merrill resolved to do the opposite of this. Honesty was the best policy, and the only way issues could be addressed was if someone did the hard work to get them all out in the open. She maintained that Hawke was the one being silly and stubborn about all of this, but being Keeper was sometimes about making the effort to be the bigger person.

Also Merrill had spent three days sleeping next to a cold and unresponsive lover, and she would take matters into her own hands if it would prevent a fourth.

So she waited for a moment where they were all sitting around the campfire to approach. It was important that Hawke and Carver were both there, though holding such a serious conversation with more than one person as at time felt a bit… overwhelming. And Marethari would not have had trouble with it. But Merrill could only be Merrill, so she turned to face Carver and only Carver for now.

He was focussed on his hands, where he was whittling at a piece of wood with a pocket knife. But he looked up at her with what seemed measured politeness.

“What is that?” Merrill found herself asking.

And then she rushed out, “Is that a bear?” at the same time Carver said, “A statuette of a bear.” And they both smiled, and Merrill giggled, because it was kind of silly to say the same thing at the same time. And, oh, dear, she could practically feel Hawke’s hurt stare on the back of her neck and this was probably not making things better.

“No, I’m letting myself get distracted,” Merrill said. She clapped her hands together and pointed at Carver determinedly. “I had something I needed to tell you.”

“Okay,” Carver agreed. And a light smile graced his face as he waited patiently.

“Ah, well, I-” There was no point in beating around the bush. “I wanted to say that I did have feelings for you, at one time. And I don’t know if you still think of me that way. But, I’m sorry. It was a long time ago now. And nothing’s going to happen, because I’m, um, in love with Hawke.”

She spoke clearly, so there could be no misunderstanding. And she thought it would feel better to just get it over with. But nobody said anything, or even seemed to breathe. Carver looked absolutely dumbstruck, and Merrill was afraid to break eye contact and turn around to see Hawke’s expression. So she did the only thing she could and continued to fill the silence.

“Um, also you spent all that time as a templar. And I know you had to do some of those harrowing – Or was it hallowing? – things. And Anders told me all about them and it makes me a bit uncomfortable, you know?” Merrill felt herself choke on her own words, and waved her hands frantically. “I mean, not that I’m _uncomfortable_ with you. Or don’t think you’re a good person. Or that I can’t understand why you joined up. It only makes me uncomfortable in a _romantic_ sort of sense, you know, to think of… that.”

If anything Carver seemed even more baffled.

“I’m getting a bit off track, aren’t I?” Merrill said. “Yes, the important part is that I love Hawke.” And the words were only spilling out faster and faster. “Though I guess your name is Hawke too, isn’t it? That is a bit confusing. When did we all just decide that Hawke was Hawke?” she asked. “But, anyhow, I mean Marian. I’m in love with Marian.”

And just when Merrill thought she might talk herself in circles until she burst into tears and the Dread Wolf finally came to gobble her up and end her suffering, there was a breathy gasp behind her.

“You… said my name?”

Merrill turned. Hawke stood up and approached her. 

“Oh, yes, I suppose I did,” Merrill agreed.

“You never do that,” Hawke said. “Nobody does.”

“Oh, really?” But Merrill really couldn’t think of any other time she’d said it aloud. “I guess I never really thought about it, we all got so used to calling you Hawke, like you said.”

Hawke really was standing so close now. All shoulders and chest and beautiful in her blue robes. And Merrill felt herself press up on her toes, to meet the woman face to face.

“I like how you say it,” Hawke said. “Like- _Mar-yan._ ” She gave a beefed-up approximation of Merrill’s elocution.

Merrill supposed she really did say it like that. “Mar-yan,” she repeated, exaggerating the way the name slipped off the tip of her tongue. And they both giggled.

Merrill tugged at Hawke’s waist. She felt giddy and red-faced, and her ears fluttered when Hawke cupped her face and swooped her into a kiss.

Well, that was one dispute solved. Merrill was all ready to wrap this up, cut-and-dry. She was higher than the moon, and considered she might not be merely a half-decent Keeper, but a goddess of effective conflict-resolution.

At least until Carver cuts through the joy with a weary groan.

“Holy Maker. Yes, we get it. You’re both very in love, and we’re all very happy for you. But can you at least wait until you’re back in your tent to suck face like that?”


End file.
